Traitor
by Lady Charity
Summary: Russia felt more lightheaded as his blood poured onto the floor. He gave a watery chuckle at the thought that his people’s blood that stained the ground rivaled the morning dew. It was almost beautiful.Great Purge 1937-1938


Russia always woke up with blood in his mouth.

Russia had tried everything to avoid sleep. Every time his head hit his pillow, he could hear screams and cries ringing in his ears. The sounds would bleed into his dreams and nightmares plagued him. He would stay up all night, alone in the darkness as everyone else slept in their beds. Even when he was awake, he could hear his people's blood crying out to him. He would cover his ears but they would never quiet.

Some nights he would whisper to the invisible demons, "I'm so sorry."

Other nights he'd say, "You deserve this."

When he would actually drift to sleep, he'd always awaken with a metallic taste on his tongue. Some nights were so bad that he spat out mouthfuls of blood on his pillow and would have to avoid worried inquiries from Lithuania and Ukraine by saying, "I must've chewed on my tongue in the night."

"You always say that," Lithuania protested. "But your tongue is fine."

"Do you think I'm lying?" Russia said softly. Lithuania stiffened immediately. "You trust me, da? I wouldn't be untruthful to you."

"I'm sorry, Russia-san," Lithuania babbled nervously, gluing his eyes to Russia's shoes. "I'm just worried—I thought it could've been internal conflicts or something like that—"

"My leader knows what's best for me and his people," Russia said brightly, his opinions coated with faith. "He wouldn't hurt me intentionally."

Even so, every morning Russia could feel his mouth fill with warm blood and he would have to choke it back down his throat or spit it into the sink. Uncertainty seeped into his mind, adding chinks into his strong trust for his leader. His heart ached so much that he wanted to tear it out of his chest, so long as it ended the pain. Russia couldn't understand; his leader was eradicating traitors and spies that were trying to destroy the Soviet Union. Why did it hurt Russia so much inside?

"It's the purges, isn't it?" Lithuania asked gravelly as he scrubbed the bloodstains off Russia's pillowcase. "So many people are killed because of it—perhaps that's hurting you."

"Don't be so foolish, Lithuania," Russia said calmly before rinsing his mouth to wash out the blood on his teeth. "My leader is stopping all traitors from hurting me. This is helping me."

Lithuania cast an anxious glance at Russia, but remained quiet. Russia left the conversation at that. Of course he was right. Comrade Stalin promised to take care of Russia. These purges were a good thing. Russia reminded himself this every day to keep the trust running. He _had_ to constantly remind himself; there were times when Russia no longer remembered the purpose of the trials. All he could see was anguish.

***

Russia stared in silent horror as the prisoners were beaten, threatened, and torn down until they had no will left. He stood there, hands wrapped around the cold, bloodstained bars, forced to take in his people's spilt blood and bloodcurdling screams. Cold insecurity seized his heart as the questioners' fists slammed against the prisoners' body, drawing blood and willpower. Russia's leader told him that these people were enemies of the Soviet Union, but from here Russia could only see the people he loved and cared for tortured to submission.

He wanted to yell at the officers to stop this madness, but Russia was mute. He could only watch as the officers shoved prisoners in water and held them under until they nearly drowned, or when they would threaten to murder the prisoners' families. The arrestees' pleads to spare their loved ones made Russia's ears bleed. He thought that he would love the sound of his enemies groveling for mercy, but when it came out of the mouths of his people, it only made his heart pain.

It wouldn't matter how strong the person was. Even if he was declaring his innocence at the top of his lungs and refusing to back down after the beating and the terrorization, they would all end up the same. The strong, faithful leaders who aided Russia through the revolution in 1917, defenders of Communism, or obedient citizens who praised Comrade Stalin would have the same fate. At they end they were thin, scarred skeletons screaming their guilt to the outrageous crimes they were accused of, begging for punishment and death for their sins. There was nothing in them anymore, just complete surrender to lies.

Were they lies? Comrade Stalin had said otherwise. Who was Russia to trust, his leader or his own people?

He should be used to this now. How many times did he have to see people arrested and executed, tortured until they confessed their 'guilt,' or shipped to prisons and Gulag camps? Despite it all, Russia squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the sight as if he could wake himself up from this dream. He could still hear every voice choked with pain and tears, though.

***

"I don't understand," Russia said feebly, resting his head in his arms. He couldn't believe that he was admitting his doubts to his own leader. How faithless he was! Didn't Comrade Stalin promise to take good care of Russia and his people? "How can you tell the difference between good people and bad people?" He swallowed down a cupful of vodka, trying to calm his nerves and his thoughts. "They all feel the same to me. They're all just my people."

"That is what makes them dangerous," his good leader responded gently. He poured Russia another cup of vodka. "Do you see how deceitful they are? They may seem so innocent and loving, but inside they are poison."

"But why?" Russia asked in a broken voice. "Why are they trying to betray us? We did everything we could to make their lives happy, da? Am I doing something wrong? A-am I displeasing them? They wouldn't try to hurt us if we were perfect."

"Do not doubt the Soviet Union, Comrade Braginski," Stalin said in such a voice that made Russia's jittery nerves smooth down. "Things are running how they should be. The people's minds are corrupted. Don't you remember Trotsky?"

Russia nodded, gulping down more vodka. It burned his throat on the way down, which was rather unusual since Russia was so accustomed to the side effects of the drink.

"He is plotting to destroy the Soviet Union," Stalin said firmly. "He's feeding the people thoughts of savage-like rebellion and betrayal. He's the enemy that is disloyal to you."

"I thought he was dead," Russia contradicted, frowning.

Stalin stared intently at Russia. "What gave you that notion?" he said slowly.

"I don't know—he should be, shouldn't he?" Russia said uncomfortably. "I thought so…I don't know why, but I feel that he is."

Stalin shook his head. "I'm afraid he is still plaguing the Earth with his existence. It must've been a trick of the senses for you." Russia squirmed in his seat. He usually was never wrong with his intuitions. "He is still out there, Trotsky is. He's turning some of our people into traitors."

"It hurts," Russia whispered in a thin voice. Even the vodka couldn't soften the pain; it actually enhanced it. "It hurts so much every time the people are executed. Those are my children; how can they be my enemies?"

"It's like treating an infected wound, Comrade Braginski," Russia's boss said. "Helping it stings badly, but that is because you are cleaning out the dangerous vermin. It will be better soon. You'll see how safe I'll make this country."

Russia trembled. He was panicking inside now, but he didn't know why. It must've been all that bloodshed earlier this day. Russia couldn't sit still. He felt his heart punching his chest and his blood racing in his veins in a frenzied alarm. The walls were closing in on him, trapping him with his leader and his dark eyes that seared Russia's skin and made his stomach churn uncomfortably.

"I should leave now," Russia said in a shaking voice. "Katyusha—I promised Big Sis that I would be home before dark—"

"You shouldn't leave so early," Stalin exclaimed, generously pouring more drink into Russia's already full cup. "Drinks will not hurt you. You should relax; it's been a long day."

"I want to go home," Russia implored. He could hear his rapid heartbeat in his ears. It almost sounded like gunshots. His appeals were futile; Russia couldn't go against his own beloved leader. Doing so may take him down the road to betrayal. A nation couldn't possibly disobey his leader.

***

By the time Russia finally returned home, everyone had gone to bed. Even Ukraine, who had stayed up at the kitchen table waiting for him, fell asleep in her wooden chair. Russia was afraid that moving her would wake her up, so he put a blanket around her and let her be. He stumbled into the study, his body throbbing with soreness. He sat down at his desk, but none of his limbs relaxed.

He buried his face in his hands, feeling that familiar sensation of hot blood rise in his throat. His head was battered from the constant sounds of gunshots, screams, blood splattering, and death. His body shook with immense pain as thousands were shot in the back of the head, worked to death in camps, and shoved in the back of vans disguised as bread trucks, where gas would soon pour into the people's lungs and slowly torture them to death. Russia slid to the floor, clutching his head as blood trickled from his lips and stained the floor.

"It's for the best," Russia whispered to himself. His clothes were now painted red with blood. He tried to stem the flow with his hand, but the blood soaked his glove and slid down into his sleeves. "They deserve this. They're trying to kill me. We must protect the country."

_Screams of pain voices begging to spare their family rifles firing bullets into their heads families murdered even when promised to be spared—_

Russia covered his ears with his hands, feeling the blood wet his hair. Nothing would stop; not the pain, not the blood, not the horrid sounds that broke his heart.

_Fighting back tears too much sound too many screams too much blood make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOP—_

He couldn't feel anything anymore. His whole body was wracked with pain; nothing was real except for agony. There was no floor under him, no scarf that warmed his neck, no blood that coated his face. Russia existed in a world of pain and torture, just like his people. He gasped for breath, but no fresh air could soothe his lungs, as if he was trapped with his people in those gas vans. He felt like he was dying; he wished he was. Would it all end just like that?

"Russia-san!" Russia couldn't move his head, but he could recognize Lithuania's voice immediately. He felt Lithuania's hands pull him up and hold him, since that was the only thing they can do. No power could stop the pain anymore.

"What happened? Have you been attacked? What's going on?" Lithuania demanded earnestly.

Russia coughed, sending specks of blood onto Lithuania's clothes. He felt more and more lightheaded as his blood poured onto the floor. The dark red was such a rich and bold color; it was almost beautiful. Russia gave a watery chuckle at the thought that his people's blood that stained the ground rivaled the morning dew.

"I've been attacked by my own people," Russia murmured.

"What do you mean?" Lithuania asked in a strained voice. "You don't say—the purges—?"

"Hey, Lithuania," Russia said softly. His words slipped and slurred on the slick blood that flowed from his lips. He grabbed the front of Lithuania's shirt with his stained hands, pulling him close. "Is it possible for a leader to betray his country?"

Russia smiled a ghostly, bloodstained grin at Lithuania, who recoiled with shock. Russia began to laugh at the question because it sounded so absurd, so much like a paradox, so distrustful and cynical. He laughed so hard that the chortles turned into dry sobs. As his children's blood gushed from his mouth and their pain seized every inch of his body, Russia screamed with agony and grief.

Because it sounded so true.

**Russia's history is so…depressing.**

**It's got lots of angst potential, but sometimes I feel really bad writing it because all of this actually happened; it's not some storyline a person made up. **

**The Great Purge lasted from 1937-1938. According to Soviet Archives, ****at least 1,710,000 people were arrested. About 1,440,000 people were sentenced and at least 724,000 were executed. More than 200,000 were exiled or deported by ****Administrative procedures**** and at least 2 million were sentenced by courts for common crimes, among them 800,000 were sentenced to gulag camps. However, some people don't trust the Soviet archives and think that the number is much higher than that. **

**Lots of people were accused of working with Leon Trotsky in ruining the Soviet Union. If any of you read ****Animal Farm**** before, I'm sure you would recognize a lot of this. Trotsky was exiled by Stalin and then killed in Mexico, but Stalin still kept blaming all of the problems that happened in the Soviet Union on Trotsky so that they could unite against a common enemy. ****Animal Farm's**** comparison would be Snowball, ****1984****'s comparison would probably be Goldstein. **

**Most people were not at all guilty for outrageous crimes, but were tortured and threatened so much that they admitted their accusations. Some people made the officers promise not to harm their families when they were arrested, but when the prisoners were killed or sent to camps, the police murdered or imprisoned family members anyways. **

**Practically all of the old revolution leaders who worked with Stalin during the 1917 Bolshevik Revolution were executed during the Great Purge and Moscow Trials. **

**If any of you ever read ****1984****, there's this one guy who was like Winston Smith when he was captured by the police. A man named Bukharin was accused of plotting the dismemberment of the Soviet Union, the murder of Stalin, and a couple other crimes. He refused to say he was guilty and clung to his innocence even when he was tortured physically and psychologically. Finally, at the end he went to his execution proclaiming his love and loyalty to Stalin. **

**I am not too sure how happy I am with this story just yet. I hope I have stuck to most historic facts accurately…**


End file.
